


Cold Turkey

by de_klaire



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurting Peter Parker, Parent Tony Stark, Peter Parker Has Anxiety, Peter Parker Has Issues, Peter Parker Has Panic Attacks, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker Whump, Protective Tony Stark, Sick Peter Parker, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Worried Tony Stark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-26
Updated: 2020-03-04
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:21:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22914652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/de_klaire/pseuds/de_klaire
Summary: Peter has been addicted to morphine for almost a year and no one knows. But he knows it has to stop, because he can't keep disappointing the people he loves. He can't bare to tell May and Tony, so he decides to quit cold turkey by himself. Naturally, this turns out to be a horrible idea.TRIGGER WARNINGS- Morphine addiction, morphine withdrawls, morphine cravings, vomit, panic attacks, anxiety
Relationships: May Parker & Peter Parker, Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 27
Kudos: 334





	1. Chapter 1

This wasn’t how Peter had wanted to spend his spring break. It’s your own fault, he reminded himself, shaking against the porcelain of his tub. Spring break was the only time May was gone, the only time Peter could detox himself without having to worry her or Tony. Without either of them ever having to know that every day was just a desperate race to get more, more, more. He had to stop. There was no other option. He would not dip into his savings fund again, not call Tony and lie, saying he was sick and couldn’t work on his suit. He would not continue to let them down. But why did it have to be so awful?

He fought back a yawn, swiping a tissue at his nose with little success. His entire body felt damp with sweat and tears and his nose wouldn’t stop running. Even though he’d sweat through his clothes goosebumps bumps had traveled up and down his skin. He would have to add giving a speech to every kid he saw to his to do list. “Don’t do drugs kid, you have no control over them! Even Spiderman gets addicted to morphine sometimes!” The thought only added to the thrumming in his temples.

How had he let this happen? How had he let it get this bad? He was the friendly neighborhood Spiderman! Little kids looked up to him. He was supposed to be a role model, set a good example. Now he was shivering on his bathroom floor, trying to keep his measly breakfast down. 

He weekly checked his watch. Eighteen hours since his last dose. He’d flushed the rest down the toilet, put his bank accounts on hold, deleted every dealer from his contacts, even gotten rid of the needles stashed under his mattess. No taking chances. We’re only gonna do this once. Now he had the urge to break out of his apartment and figure out someway, anyway, to get his hands on just one dose. That’s the withdrawals talking. He chided himself, but it didn’t feel like withdrawals, it felt like his very deepest desire hidden in the very pit of his soul. 

Peter shifted, groaning. His muscles had screamed at him even before he’d dragged himself out of bed and into the bathroom, preparing for the invetiable. To say the least, an hour on ceramic tiles didn’t do his aching back any favors. 

He wrapped a pathetic blanket closer around his shoulders, closing his eyes against the constant watering that wouldn’t seem to stop. He relished in the darkness that he found behind his eyelids. What he wouldn’t do to just sleep, even for a little while. How long had it been since he’d sunk into a pillow and just slept? It felt like years, had probably been days. He’d seen the concerned looks of Aunt May, taking in the dark circles under his eyes, the way his cheek bones stuck out just a little too far. She’d hugged him so tight before leaving for that conference, making him promise he really would be okay. He’d assured her that yes, he would indeed live. Now, laying here, he wasn’t quite sure. 

…

How long had it been? Peter’s mind was so foggy he couldn’t count the hours now. Twenty-seven? Thirty-two? Neither of those numbers seemed to quite make sense, but he was sure it landed between the two of those. He was so groggy from lack of sleep he didn’t have the effort to really try to do pointless math. This would last ten days tops, probably less with his metabolism. He gripped to the thought helplessly, so so tired. 

Even if Peter’s body let him sleep, the new anxiety that had crept into his certainly wouldn’t have. He jumped when the air conditioning turned on, flinched at the sounds of neighbors talking all the way down the hall. What he wouldn’t give to just be a regular heroin addict trying to quit cold turkey. Certaintly it just wasn’t fair to add super senses to the mix. He tried to wipe the sweat from his forehead, but his hand was just as soaked.

The nausea in his stomach was slowly building, working its way into his throat. He’d continue to make measly attempts to suck down water, hydrating his body before it finally rebelled against him. Apparently it wasn’t going to wait any longer. A thrumming at the back of his head and a bad taste in his mouth sent him retching over the toilet, snot and tears pouring down with the little water he had managed. His body was relentless, tying itself in knots to try to get all the toxins he’d been putting in for almost a year. You did it to yourself. He repeated the mantra, reaching for toilet paper to wipe his chin. It did little though, because before he could even clean it, he was leaning back over. This time, his aim wasn’t quite as good.

…

Something had gone wrong. It had to have. No articles he had read had said that it would feel like absolute fire, burning its way through his abdomen. He grit his teeth against another wave of pain, his stomach contracting so tight he thought it would cave in on itself. Without warning, he was choking up bile, right onto the tiles he had just cleaned. Tears streamed down his face as he closed his eyes against this horrible version of reality. He coughed as his throat burned, arguing with another round of bile.

What if I’m dying dying. The thought sent his already shaking hands trembling. He was going to die on this awful, disgusting bathroom floor, in his own sick. May would be heartbroken, Tony would come check on him when he didn’t answer his phone. Tony would find him. And they would know. They would check his blood. They’d be so disappointed, so angry. Peter’s chest was tightening. If he could just find a dose it would be okay. Whatever was wrong would be fixed and Tony would never have to know. May would never have to lose another family member. He tried to stand, his aching muscles screaming at him. No such luck, his shaking legs gave out underneath him and he landed hard on his wrist, making it bend at an odd angel. He cried out, a whole new wave of pain coursing through his body. He had to find a dose. 

His abdomen screamed at him, and he was sure he was going to be sick again, and his muscles were burning. Still, he dragged himself on his hands and knees towards the bathroom door. “Please, please, please.” He croaked to himself, but his arms and legs burned, and his muscles just wouldn’t move.

He let himself fall to the ground again, silent tears dripping down his cheeks. He was going to die. Panic gripped his mind, and he went head first into a spiraling wind of guilt and pain.

…

It was hours before his mind focused again. Still, sleep refused to bring relief. Instead, it was so much worse. He couldn’t take it. He needed a dose. On auto pilot he reached for the cool smoothness of his phone. The light of the screen threw him into another round of nausea, and he had to take several deep, aching breaths before he could stop feeling sick. He let the phone recognize his face, numbly clicking to his contacts. Names popped up, none of them his dealers. But there at the top, it was Tony. Before he could talk himself out of it, Peter clicked the name, holding the phone away from his ear so the ringing didn’t send his stomach off again. 

It rung once, twice, three times. This was a bad idea. A bad, horrible idea. Tony couldn’t know. No one could know. His thumb reached for the red end call button but was cut off by the groggy voice of a man who’d been woken up much too late in the night. If Mr. Stark was asleep it had to be really late. A surge of guilt ran up Peter’s spine. “Peter? Are you okay, it’s late.”

He couldn’t resist the sound of Tony’s voice, promising comfort if Peter just told him. “Mr. Stark?”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was heartbreaking to write, so have fun!

He couldn’t resist the sound of Tony’s voice, promising comfort if Peter just told him. “Mr. Stark?” His voice cracked over the simple words, tears thick in his voice.

The voice on the other side of the phone was suddenly alert, and Peter could hear hurried shuffeling. “Underoos? What’s going on? Where are you.”

“Tony?” Pepper’s voice lilted into the conversation, pulled from sleep. “Is everything okay.” 

“I don’t know, it’s Peter.” Tony replied hurridly. A long silence stretched as the comfort Peter had seeked so desperatly for a moment began to seem like an absolutely horrible idea. “Peter?” But now the hint of panic to Tony’s tone was growing, and Peter forced out a response.

“I-I’m-I’m-I’m.” He couldn’t finish, his throat constricting around the words. He couldn’t reply. What if he was never able to talk again. The thought sent his lungs right back into a series of hyperventilation and coughs. He gagged, feeling his stomach begin to churn again. 

“Okay, it’s okay, I’m coming Peter just hang in there. Just breath for me.” The shuffeling had turned into a thundering of footsteps and the voice of AIs. Peter choked on sobs, listening as Tony rambled, talking to Pepper and Friday and Peter all at once. He kept listening at thrusters surrounded his world, and the sound sent him back into a state of delirium. 

\---

Tony felt like he was the one choking, not the kid on the other end of the line. His lungs kept tightning, making him unable to catch his breath. He was probably over heating the system, flying much faster than he did even in missions. He didn’t care though. He could replace melted parts, he couldn’t replace Peter. 

“Hang in there kid, I’m so close Pete, so close.” He responses regretfully to the sound of the kid throwing up for the third time since he’d picked up the phone. His mind flashed to every worst case scenario possible. Peter could have been poisened, could have been dumb enough to fix up his own wound and gotten it infected again. Blood could be filling his lungs right now, rendering him unable to breathe. He added extra speed to his thrusters. 

He could see queens coming into a picture clear view, even in the night still full of bustling people. Had Peter been out patroling? Karen hadn’t said he was. In fact, according to Karen Peter hadn’t gone patrolling in days. A shock ran up his spine, making him shiver. How could he have not noticed that?

“I can see your apartment, Pete, I’m almost there. Hang in there bud.” His only response was a choked groan.

He didn’t bother with a door, instead going in straight through the window Peter always left unlocked. Stupid kid was going to come in to find a burgaler some day. “Peter!” He called, stepping out of his suit. “Where are you?” He wasn’t in his room, his living room. He turned at the sound of muffle crying. Through the cracked door Tony could see a limp foot resting on bathroom tiles. His heart skipped a beat, and his feet moved him towards the door.

“Peter?” He swung the door open, his chest tightening at the sight. Peter was sprawled haphazardly, his wrist at an odd angle, his chest heaving. A string of curses left Tony’s mouth as he dropped to his knees beside the trembling form. “It’s okay, Pete, you’re alright, just tell me what happened.” Peter only shook his head wildly, anxiety rising in his glassy eyes. Tony felt like the kid was looking straight past him, at something no one else could see. 

“Alright, that’s okay, I’ve got you.” He scooped him up as gently as possible, walking back to the suit. “You’re gonna be okay.”

\---

Peter’s head thrummed, and he tried to figure out what had woken him when he was finally sleeping. The cool metal of Tony’s suit was being taken away, replaced by a shaking something underneath his body. A flash of panic rose through him. Who were these people? Where were they taking him?

“No! Stop, get off!” He struggled against hands that came to pin him down. His chest heaved in an attempt to get oxygen that wouldn’t come. “Tony!” His voice strangled out of his throat. “Don’t let them take me! Tony, please.” The words were quicky dissolving into sobs that made it even harder to breathe. 

Through a swimming ocean of tears he saw a familiar face of worried eyes and scruffy hair above him. He reached for him, letting out a wounded noise when his hand was held down. 

“Let him go, let him go! I’ve got him!” Tony’s voice, familiar and strong drifted to his ears. So much sharper than when he’d been comforting Peter moments before. “I’ve got you kid.” There it was again, the gentleness Tony only used with a select few. “Ive got you.” 

Peter’s hand was aloud to fly up, and a calloused one was quick to meet it, enveloping it safely. 

“Tony, we need to know what happened. It’s gonna save us a lot of time.” Another voice floated into his consciousness. Was that… Bruce? He like Bruce. But not always the other side of Bruce. A flare of anxiety hit his mind, flashing green and purple behind his eyes. 

“Yeah, okay. Okay, kid? Look at me.” Tony’s voice was firm but kind, his eyes forcing a lock with Peter’s. “You have to tell us what happened, okay? So we can help you.” He almost said no, but then a flash of blinding pain hit his abodmen, stealing his breath away. He looked up at Mr. Stark’s eyes, so concerned, so warm, so trusting. Peter didn’t want to die here.

He gripped the hand in his even tighter, praying that it wouldn’t be let go. “Morphine withdrawls.”

It was funny how those two simple words, so simple, so quietly spoken, seemed to send a shock wave through the group. Peter heard others speaking.

“Okay, we can deal with that.” Bruce spoke confidently, though there was a lilt of panic to his voice. “Nothing life threatening, okay? You’re going to be fine, Peter. Okay Tony? Peter’s going to be fine.”

Tony. It was the only thing Peter could really focus on. His face was broken in a way Peter had never seen it before. The eyes that had been so trusting moments ago seemed to have shattered, unsure what to do or where to look. Disappointment and grief and… Anger. That was what was in Tony’s eyes now. Anger. Peter shrunk back away from the older man. When the nurses began wheeling the gurney away, Tony stayed, letting his hand get ripped away from Peter’s. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, I'm sorry! Stay tuned for a new chapter!


	3. Chapter 3

Peter was barely aware that he’d even been unconscious, but he found himself blinking awake anyway. The pain in his abdomen made him groan, though the firery pain had been reduced to a dull burn. 

“Peter? How are you doing?” The boy searched quickly for the sound.

“Tony?” The name tumbled out of hid mouth before he could stop it. His heart sunk when Bruce’s face was hovering beside him, not his mentor’s. 

“No, Pete, just me.” Bruce’s face was kind but tired, lines etched beneath his eyes that Peter didn’t think had been there before. 

Tears, hot and blinding, rose to Peter’s eyes. “I-he- I can’t.”

“No, no Peter it’s not like that.” Peter didn’t even process the words, his mind only running over one thought again and again. Gone, gone, gone. Tony was gone. He couldn’t breathe, nothing was right. His chest tightened, adding to the symphone of pain already running through his body. He was distinctly aware of the sudden absence of the person sitting beside him, but he couldn’t even remember who had been there.

His hands shook, and all he wanted was to allow cool toxins to run through his blood stream, slowing down his racing heart and banishing all of the intrusive thoughts from his mind. Every muscle in his body was so tight they trembled from the tension. He couldn’t seem to catch his breath. 

Everyone was gone, and he was alone, trembling and completely terrified. “Please.” He rasped out. “Please.” He wished he was begging for the pain to stop, or for Tony to come back, or for some sort of help. Wished he wasn’t asking, pleading to the emptiness of the room, to find him just one shot of morphine. He dry sobbed, no tears coming to the desert dry agony that was filling out every part of his mind and body. So incredibly dry.

And then he was there, calloused hands running over Peter’s face and trembling fingers running through Peter’s curls. Scruffy hair falling into the man’s eyes. “Tony?” Peter whispered, unsure if this was a hallucination.

“It’s me, you’re okay, I’m right here.” Peter leaned into the touch, the warmth of the hand on his face bringing the chill out of his skin.

“I’m sorry.”

“I know.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, Pete.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“It isn’t your fault.”

Despite Peter’s best efforts sleep was tugging him back into its embrace. He fought, trying to keep his slowly blinking eyes open.

“Sleep, kid. You need it. I’m not going anywhere.” 

He allowed himself to relax as much as he could, closing his eyes. “I’m sorry.” He whispered out one last time.

“Me too, kid. Me too.”

\---

“I just went to get some coffee.” Tony pulled a hand over his face.

“It isn’t your fault.” Pepper ran a hand through his unkept hair.

“He was so scared. He thought I had left him.”

“You couldn’t have known that he was going to wake up when he did.” 

“That isn’t what I should have known.” Tony pulled away from the touch, standing to pace. 

“That isn’t your fault either.”

“It is though! He’s my kid Pep, I mean, how could I not have known that he was… How didn’t I notice what was going on?” 

“Because he didn’t want you to know.” Pepper grabbed his hand, pulling him back towards her. “This isn’t something you can blame yourself for, Tony. You can’t know everything going on inside Peter’s head.”

Tony allowed himself to sink back into the shair, looking at Peter with a desperate kind of longing. “How do I fix this?” She ran a gentle hand over his shoulder.

“He isn’t an engine, Tony. You can’t problem solve this, you just have to take it one day at a time.” A low moan grasped Tony’s attention, pulling him back to the side of Peter’s bed.

Peter’s eyes squinted open, flincing away from the light. “Pep, can you-”

“Yeah.” Before Tony could finish the sentence that sound of a clicking light switch left the only light coming from the windows. Peter allowed his eyes to open, blinking as he adjusted. He look up at Tony as if he wasn’t sure the man was real.

“Hey, bud, how are you feeling?”

“Really bad.” Tony chuckled a little, pulling his fingers through the boys hair. 

“Yeah, Bruce said you might be feeling pretty crappy for a couple more days.”

A shiver ran up Peter’s body, his eyes suddenly going unfocused. Tony flinched at the sight of Peter’s face screwing up in pain. 

“Hey, it’s okay, you’re okay.” Tony grabbed a blanket from the end of the bed, pulling it over Peter’s trembling form. “Just breathe, bud.”

“I need it Mr. Stark, please.” He sounded so desperate that Tony just wanted to give the poor kid anything he wanted. 

“I know, kid, but you can’t. It’ll only make it worse.”

“Please, just one more time, I promise. Just one more time and I’ll be done! I won’t do it again, just let me one more time!” Peter was sobbing now, grasping at Tony’s shirt. “Just one more time.”

“I’m sorry, Pete, you can’t.” Tony’s voice broke over the words, desperate to just to make the kid feel better.

“Please, please, please.” The words drowned out all other thoughts or words of reasons for the next hours. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I know this one is kind of short, but what did you guys think? Comments are honestly the biggest motivaotr for me and I love to hear from you guys so let me know your thoughts in the comments down below!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to go ahead and wrap this story up because I kind of hit a wall with it.I might make a new story later on with this as the base for this, but for now I'm going to work on some other projects. Anywars, enjoy some well deserved fluff!

Peter’s head was laid softly against Tony’s shoulder, eyes softly blinking at the TV across from them. Sometimes he focused on whatever Tony had decided to put on most recently- Star Wars, Brooklyn-99, for the few minutes before Peter had complained the older man had even put on the news. In Peter’ opinion, that was a completely unacceptable abuse of the kid’s vulnerable state.

“Mr. Stark?” Tony made a noise in the back of his throat to signify he was listening, even as he continued to make the tiniest of edits to a blueprint on his stark pad. “It isn’t your fault.” Tony’s hand stilled, his eyes turning to Peter.

“What do you mean, kid?”

“The drugs. It isn’t your fault that I did them.” Tony was listening fully now, moving Peter’s head from his shoulder so he could turn to face him. 

“Peter, you don’t have to-”

“No, I do. I do because I know you and I know you’ll overthink it forever and blame yourself and go into a whole guilt storm. Cause I would do that too, and you know, we’re a lot alike and stuff.” Tony smirked.

“Yeah, we are.” He left a space for Peter to keep talking.

“It was just that after everything with Toomes,” His voice broke over the words. “I just needed all the thoughts, and the nightmares, and the panic attacks to stop. I just needed them to stop along enough to get it together but then… But then I couldn’t stop.”

“Oh, Pete.” Tony ran a hand through the mop of brown curls. “I wish you would have just told me.” Peter looked at his lap.

“I’m sorry.”

“Uh, uh.” Tony put a finger under Peter’s chin, lifting it. “None of that I’m sorry stuff. Addiction is a disease. It was not your fault any more than it was mine.” 

Peter nodded, seeming unconvinced. Still, Tony knew the kid would believe the words some day. He’d make sure of it.


End file.
